My fabulous floor is finished.  That’s the good news.  The bad news is that my mother had a stroke and has vascular dementia plus a whole lot of other things we never knew about.  And now pneumonia.

She was starting to make pretty good sense some of the time in the hospital but now that she’s in the rehab facility she’s completely nuts.  She won’t sign the forms so they can treat her.  She finally signed the one so they can bill medicare but we’re gonna have to move her somewhere else if she doesn’t get it together here pretty quick. 

When I asked her how it went with the physical therapist — She hasn’t walked since the stroke — she said, “Oh, I’m not going to involve her.”

I tried to explain that medicare won’t pay if she doesn’t “participate.”  There’s no reasoning with her.  She thinks my brother, who she has named as executor of her estate, is trying to get ahold of her money.  She thinks the form for rehab is the power of attorney form. 

Anyway, that’s where I’ve been.  She was in ICU for a week because they couldn’t get her heart to calm down.  She’d been on the bathroom floor for three or four days but still contends she was in bed.  She was delirious when I found her, covered in feces.  I went to call 911 and they called the ambulance while she screamed at me to hang the phone up. 

The whole time she was in ICU, where there were no windows, she was convinced it was snowing outside.  So many times I’d wish I had pencil and paper.  The stuff that came out of her mouth was just so….Well, it would make good fiction.  She’s the most narcissistic person I’ve ever known.  And mean.  And now crazy.

Her legs were tan, her toes red.  Out of the shower into the towel, she had plenty of time.  The mist under her arms stung but smelled sweet and clean like summer.  One long leg lifted, she oiled it, admiring her strength in the mirror.

Looking out past the bedroom window she could see the circular drive below.  The sun was going down and she would be cold in the backless dress which lay waiting on the bed.  She must find the Venetian shawl. 

She let her hair out of the towel and strode naked through the hall, letting her lotioned limbs dry in the night air.  All the windows upstairs were open…

Remember Midlyobsessed?  He used to do these intros just to tease us.  It’s kinda fun; you should try it.

If I had a partner who liked to garden and who wouldn’t mind working on an old house it would be a whole different story.  This would be a perfect house for the two of us.  It would be fun to do it together.  But it’s been five years and I’m done waiting. 

How much do you want to bet that the minute I sold he’d show up. 

I did find a place today that sells and installs Marmoleum, and they are coming Wed to give me a bid.  I am hopeful once again. 

I took my friend — I don’t think I’ve named him.  He’s the gangly one who is a goofy dancer whose wife died quite unexpectedly.  Oh, I remember now.  I call him the pilot.  I had him accompany me to see the other side of the duplex.  He asked all the right questions and looked in the crawl space and observed that the roof was about five years old.  He checked out the water heater and electrical box and said everything looked good. 

I told him I wanted him to come with me and tell me if he could open up the two bedrooms — He’s built a couple houses — but when I saw her bed fit comfortably in the space I calmed down about it.  I just tried calling the realtor I feel so bad for the old lady.  She probably can’t sleep for worrying about having to move.

I was surprised.  She’s a spry little thing.  Works every week in the gift shop at the hospital.  Has a computer, bakes all the time.  In good health.  She just had her 91st birthday yesterday and here I come talking about taking her space.  I want her side because of the fence and because that side of the yard is bigger.  She could have the other side, though.  I’m not sure if she understood that.  I wanted to tell the realtor to assure her that I wasn’t moving in there until I got my house ready to sell, which is going to be a while. 

It boggles my mind how I can go from being hellbent on buying a place in Florida to getting all worked up over a duplex here.  The thing is I need a smaller place here no matter what.  So however that shakes out is a given to be worked around with respect to Florida.  Maybe I won’t be able to afford two houses no matter how small the house and inexpensive the area.  Plus, I need to know how much this house is really worth, first.  And until it’s on the market I won’t.

I found a realtor, though, who can give me a pretty good idea.  I recognized her name on a sign because she sold me this house.  She represented the seller.   I didn’t think she did a very good job because she made no effort to talk up the place.  So I will need to find someone else to sell it. 

I went to a party tonight, and we had drinks and h’or dourves in the garden.  She and her husband own a nursery on five acres, in addition to working their real jobs.  I saw no weeds and everything was watered.  I wondered what my problem was that I couldn’t get it together to take care of just one acre.  Where’s my pride of ownership?    Why would I want to trade all this in for a no-account duplex on a big square of grass? 

I took my dog for a walk when I got home, past all the nice houses and beautiful old gardens and wondered how enjoyable a walk down the culdesac would be. 

I’m looking at a duplex again tomorrow.  This time I’ll see where my would-be renter lives.  I can’t even imagine living on the other side of a wall from someone.  The last time I did that I was 20. 

A loose chain of events took me there.  And I’d have to leave all my wordly possesions behind in order to cram myself into the little two-bedroom, ’50s abode.  It’s sweet, though.  Except for the bedrooms which frighten me they are so small.  I don’t think I could breathe in there, let alone sleep. 

Also the yard is way too big, and I’d be the one to mow it.  I’m trying to get away from yardwork so what am I thinking?    I’m thinking I want to be in Florida half the year and the only way to swing it is to sell this place and find something worth half the value. 

I walked through the woods and treasured each tree.  I sat by the campfire and almost lit it.  I fondled my banister and rocked in the wicker chairs on the front porch but still I’m thinking of leaving it all behind. 

I suspect I’m trying to hang onto an image I fear losing; furniture I won’t be able to afford again. I lucked into this place and I’m not likely to find anything I like as much.  But it’s just too much for one person.

I don’t know what to do.

This made a big impression on me:

“What “moving thought forward” is, is about being a nucleus that attracts different components of thought so that when they actualize around you — it is different than it has ever been before! “As I stand in my focused, human, leading-edge experience, and I choose this combination of thoughts and feelings, I am offering a signal that has never been offered before. And so, the Universe must uniquely yield to me, which causes me to offer a vibration that maybe someone somewhere else is matching. If they are, they will certainly come into my experience for the time that we are matching it.” That is the way you affect the world. Most think in terms of thought affecting the world: You think about transmitting outward: “I’m going to affect the world from my outgoing signal.” That isn’t the way it works. You affect the world by achieving the vibration that brings the signals to you. You create a nucleus that Universe has to respond around. That is how you are the creator.”

— Abraham

I underlined and itallicized the parts that I believed and wondered about in that order. Again, thanks Marilyn.

I took a yoga class in Florida and I liked it so much I came home and found a studio near my house.  I have been going at least three times a week and already it has changed me. 

I don’t know why I was so resistant to yoga.  Well, yes, I do.  The classes I tried were too advanced.  Now I take gentle yoga and beginning yoga and yoga I.  Yoga I is a little hard for me but I do what I can and each time I get a little more of a stretch, better balance, and stronger muscles. 

But the best part is that when I leave each class I float on out of there and stay high all night.  I didn’t think I liked reggae either but after going dancing I changed my mind.  I put it on the TV and keep it on so that when I come home, high, my house doesn’t bring me down, what with the fucking floor an’ all. 

Yeah, there’s a new hitch with the floor.  The floor guy’s friend, the one who was going to come to the rescue, he’s gone.  He got a job in Idaho.  So back to square one. 

Not sure why but it feels like I’m in love.  It also feels like something wonderful is about to happen.  I know this feeling and I remember that it doesn’t usually pan out.  Or at least I’m not aware of anything or anyone having come my way when I’ve felt like this in the past.  Which is fine because I can just enjoy the sensation without being plagued with the why and when of it. 

I have a picture of the house I want in Florida on my screen and I have begun thinking of it as possibly mine.  With that comes the responsibility.  It’s got a yard full of tropical plants I know nothing about and trees and shrubs.  Not unlike this place minus 3/4 of an acre.  Plus the tropical weather with all its storms.  Not to mention being gone half the year so then who takes care of it?

“There isn’t anything anybody wants than is for any other reason than that they think they would feel better in having it.”  This was the daily quote from Abraham-Hicks (thanks, Marilyn, for turning me onto them).  I read that and questioned my thinking about the Lake Worth house.  Maybe that yard would defeat the whole purpose of my move to the beach.  Maybe all I want is a condo.  But then there are the fees which don’t add to the resale value so that makes no sense.

Maybe I should just love Florida from afar.  But I don’t think so.  I have begun to imagine a life for myself there.  It’s a small town and it would be easy to make new friends.  The people I talked to felt familiar.  I would fit in there.  I look young there.  I might even find a job there. 

My street had no power the last six hours, and there is speculation among the neighbors that it is widespread.  It happened right at five and I think people had a couple drinks and weren’t able to cook much so just went out for a walk to see what was going on because they couldn’t drive. 

I don’t know what they’re all worked up about.  I was the only one on my street to be out for a whole week at Christmas.  Shit, I still have my camp stove going so bring it on. 

I lit all my candles, which I’d rounded up a couple nights ago when it was really hot and I stayed up late listening to music and dancing while I waited for the house to cool down.  It wasn’t even June yet so I didn’t want to turn the air conditioner on.

I have a battery-operated boom box I take camping so I got that out and played Jules’ new CD just now, cuddling with dog in the candlelight.  Listening to her nursery rhymes and love songs made me so happy.  I got up to blow all the candles out for bed when all of a sudden I heard the power go on.  Happy day.  I mean night.

My stock broker called today.  He wanted me to sell my mutual funds and buy new ones.  I have a fee-based acct so commission’s not an issue.  I’ll have to pay the capitol gain though.  But I’ve wanted to get rid of those for a while so I was glad to get it over with.  Only thing is, when it came time to switch over to the ones he suggested, I didn’t do it. 

I’ve been trying to figure out where I could get my hands on some cash, so I could buy a little house in Florida, and now maybe I have it. 

My new friend, Samial, is decidedly less attentive these last few days, after having stepped up his campaign.  Successfully.  And that is surprisingly disturbing given his age, location, and alcoholic tendencies.   I usually go for the emotionally unavailable but physically unavailable must have seemed just as safe.  So sad.  Not that he’s backed off but that I care. 

Flylady says it’s time to do the front porch and walkway, or at least that’s what I have to deal with.  I cut back the roses, pulled clover, and filled the recycle bin up with the piles my housesitter made under the rhodies.  I should pay that guy some more money but I don’t want to encourage him.

The market goes up and I just sit here and watch vicariously, missing out.  I don’t trust it and I don’t have the money to lose in case I am right. 

I should have been figuring out how to make some money in this market but since I’ve been home all I do is tidy.  All that time painting and with the island in the great room and all its contents stacked in other locations I just got used to living in disarray.

That’s the thing about staying in a hotel; everything is where it’s supposed to be.  And clean.  The guy who housesat for me — I might not have mentioned him and he’s so boring I won’t — must have spent every spare minute cleaning and organizing.  And I’m talking the yard, the basement, the garage. 

Only thing is when I woke up the next morning and went out to the garage where I keep the dog food, I noticed all his stuff.  I told him early on I wasn’t going to rent a room to him but he must not have believed me.  I’d call him from Florida to see how things were going and he’d be “I cleaned up the stuff by the side of your house.” 

My carport fell down in the snow storm plus Derek just piled the stuff he took out of the bathroom back next to the shed so this guy takes it upon himself to divide it all up into three big piles:  steel here, plastic there, wood all leaning up against the house. 

Well, the stuff is all going to the dump as soon as the fucking floor gets done and Derek can put the bathroom back together.  I’m sorry I got sidetracked.  The whole point I wanted to make was that I have been living with piles but after being in a clean and tidy environment it will no longer do.

I have gone from room to room, porch to deck, and fluffed as my sister would call it.  Not the crazy one.  She’s moved again, by the way.  While I was gone I guess there was some dispute with one of the other housemates “that may have involved alcohol,” according to my brother. 

But back to my house.  That guy even cleared the forest and made a big pile of brush by the fire pit.  It’s all ship-shape, everywhere I look. I love it here.